


Snapped

by ThylacineLily



Series: Killer FOB Show [3]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Character Death, Graphic Description of Corpses, Murder, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:42:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThylacineLily/pseuds/ThylacineLily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He frowned as he opened his eyes, his face going blank as he looked at the macabre scene that awaited him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapped

_He didn’t understand why he was having such a horrible nightmare, or why he couldn’t wake up from it like he was normally able to. He usually could just make himself wake up but not this time. All he could do was wait out the nightmare and watch as it went on._

\- - - - -

Patrick groaned as he opened his eyes, shielding them from the harsh sunlight streaming in through the window, sitting up in the bed as he did so. He swallowed what little spit was in his mouth, trying to get some sort of liquid down his desert-dry throat, and looked around, confused as to when they got to the hotel. He didn’t remember even getting off the bus, and he sure as Hell didn’t remember going from the bus to the hotel and then up to a hotel room; so why was he in one?

He blindly searched the bedside table for his glasses, pulling them on when he found them. He yawned at the same time as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, his feet landing in something cold and wet. He frowned as he opened his eyes, his face going blank as he looked at the macabre scene that awaited him.

By the bathroom door, Joe was laying half on his side, half on his stomach, his arm bent at an awkward angle. A thick purplish bruise made a ring around his neck, where on the side a darker bruise had formed, indicating the break that caused the official death. A stab wound to the stomach had bled all over the shirt he wore, staining the blue a sickening black. The red liquid, having not stopped at the shirt, also stained the once pristine beige carpet.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the once vivid blue-green eyes that now stayed open in frozen terror and pain, slightly glazed by death.

A painful haze began to cloud Patrick’s head as a memory began forming, playing out in his head. He had walked off of the bus, with the other three guys, and he had checked into a hotel room all on his own. There had been a fight, he already remembered that part, that made him pissed at everyone because no one had understood, or even tried to get what he was saying. He hadn’t even gotten a room to share with Pete, which had gotten him odd looks that had only fueled the fire.

Joe had been the first that he called to the room, on the pretense of talking it all out, but when Joe got there and turned the shut the hotel room door, Patrick had grabbed a chunk of Joe’s hair and jerked his head back, slamming it into the door. He had started pulling Joe towards the bathroom, ready to drown him, when Joe had come to and started to try to fight. Any other time Joe could have fought Patrick off, but he was still dazed from the hard hit of his face into the door. That didn’t matter when a knife that Patrick had taken from the room service he had ordered, went into his stomach, causing him to snap out of the daze and try to fight.

The fighting only made the wound bleed more, but Patrick hadn’t wanted to risk him getting away so he wrapped his hands around his friend’s neck and squeezed as tight as he could. Joe had dug his fingernails into Patrick’s hands, trying to tear away the grip that threatened to kill him.

Growing tired of waiting for the man to draw his last breath, in a quick move Patrick grabbed Joe’s head and jerked it sharply to the side, grinning in sick satisfaction at the sound of the death-bringing crack. He let go of the head as Joe went limp beneath him, his eyes staring into nothingness, but reading of terror and pain.

As the memory faded away into the present Patrick realized he was holding his head in his hands and he could practically hear his heart pounding in his ears. He felt sick to his stomach, he even gagged, but he couldn’t make himself move. He couldn’t even make his muscles loosen from the tense way they had become at his sickening memory.

He slowly lifted his head and gasped, before once again gagging, nearly losing the contents of his stomach as he realized the cold and wet substance he had felt was Andy’s blood, pooled out in a wide area. All around the still body of the lifeless drummer was the blood, almost touching the door, some of it disappearing under the bed in a sickening red display. The haze that had filled his head after looking at Joe began to return to Patrick as he stared unwillingly at the bashed in skull of the drummer.

After killing Joe, Patrick had called Andy, panicking that there had been an accident with Joe, that he needed to come over as soon as possible to help him. He lied, telling Andy he had already called for an ambulance and told him the door would be cracked for him to come in and help him with Joe. He waited for Andy, calm as soon as he was off the phone. When Andy came into the room, asking what had been going on, Patrick calmly got up and went to him, walking past as if he hadn’t even seen him and shut the door.

The first hit had knocked the glasses off of Andy’s face, sending them crashing to the carpet, tumbling until they stopped at the dresser. Patrick didn’t expect Andy to recover as quickly as he had, but the first blow had caught Andy off guard and turned his head, since he hadn’t been braced for it. In that brief moment his head had been turned, it had given him a good look at his friend’s body laying by the balcony door.

The second blow, aimed for Andy’s face, glanced off of Andy’s shoulder when the drummer had ducked, delivering his own blow to Patrick’s side. Andy didn’t know where this attack was coming from, and he had a hint as to what happened to Joe, but he was obviously determined to stay alive now.

The hit to his side had broken the strange focus Patrick held, but only for a moment before he faked going in for a hit with his right hand, delivering a blow to Andy’s temple with the unexpected left hand. He knew Andy wouldn’t be expecting it, only for the simple fact that everyone knew Patrick was right-handed, so a blow from the left would be completely unpredictable. He grinned as Andy began to crumple, frowning when he didn’t fall all the way.

In a weak voice Andy had asked what the hell was going on, but all he was answered with was the last sound he would ever hear; the lamp being ripped from the bedside table before it was used to slam into the back of his head, filling the room with a sickening thunk. The last blow had made him crumple to the floor, falling on to his back, blood slowly seeping out from the wound to the back of his skull. The small bit of blood hadn’t been enough to satisfy the sick desire to see carnage that for some reason had filled Patrick.

He stared at the lamp’s flat bottom, part of it covered in a small bit of blood from where it had hit Andy’s head, and then he looked at the face of his friend. As a new desire filled him, he moved to stand over the body. Bringing his arm back, he stared at his friend for one last moment before he brought his arm down to connect the base of the lamp with Andy’s face. In a scene, reminiscent of _Pan’s Labyrinth_ , he proceeded to break in Andy’s face, not even registering the warmth that every now and then speckled his own face. He didn’t stop until he was satisfied with seeing some of Andy’s brains sticking to the lamp.

He stood up straight, dropping the bloodied lamp, and walked to the bathroom, grinning at a something in the bathtub that for some reason was blurred in this memory, before he washed his face with water from the sink. He turned and looked at the blur in the bath tub one more time before he left the bathroom.

As he left the bathroom in his memory, the haze began to lift, and once again he was holding his head, but his hands quickly moved to his mouth. He quickly covered it to keep from puking, and making more of a mess, as he bolted to the bathroom, not even caring what he could come across in there right now. His previous thoughts were shattered when he saw what his last memory had faded out. He lost the contents of his stomach all over the floor, despite his many attempts as he looked at Pete, dead in the bath tub.

The memory hit without warning; Andy had been the third call. Pete, had been the second.

When Patrick had finished with Joe, he had called Pete, using the act of something being wrong with Joe that he had ended up using again when he called Andy. Unlike Joe, and eventually Andy, Pete had no time to fight. He had walked in, stopping in his tracks when he saw Joe lying on the ground, but an arm quickly went around his throat, holding tight. He hadn’t looked behind the door, where Patrick had been hiding, giving Patrick the perfect chance to get him. The arm around his throat choked him quickly since he hadn’t had a chance to take in a breath to hold him over until he could get away.

As soon as Pete was limp in his arms, Patrick dragged him into the bathroom, putting him in the tub. He left the room and walked to Joe’s dead body, pulling the knife from the corpse, and returned to the bathroom. He grinned when he saw Pete was still unconscious, unaware that he had already done enough damage when he was choking him, having crushed his trachea. Patrick plugged the drain of the tub and moved to be above Pete. Taking Pete’s hands each into his own, one at a time, he cut each arm along the inside, from wrist to the bend where forearm met upper arm. The last cut slit Pete’s throat, spraying the wall in a sickening spray.

Some of the blood gone on Patrick, so he moved to the tub’s faucet and turned it on, using the water to wash it from his face and what bit got on his arms. Looking down, he saw the way the dark red mixed with the water and liked what he saw, so he left the water running for a little, watching as the tub filled with Pete’s blood and the water from it’s faucet. When he was bored with the scene, he turned off the water and left the bathroom, shutting the door and headed to the phone to call Andy.

As soon as he came out of the memory he puked again, the contents splattering on the floor as tears came to his eyes. He hadn’t wanted to kill his friends, he never meant for any of them to die. Yes, he was mad at them, but he would never harm them. Why had this happened? What had made him carry out this cold-blooded murder that had taken his three closest friends from him? He left the bathroom and headed out on to the balcony, hoping the fresh air would clear his clouded head. It was still bright outside, but it barely bothered him now with what was inside.

He leaned on the rail and raked his fingers through his strawberry-blonde hair, gripping slightly as he reached the hair closer to the base of his neck. His eyes stared straight past the traffic busying about on the street far below the balcony. The thought of jumping occurred to him, but he knew that would not be the way to deal with what he had done. With a heavy feeling in his chest, he turned away from the balcony and walked inside, keeping his eyes off of the bodies of his friends as he sat down on the bed and picked up the hotel phone. He dialed 911 and when the dispatch answered he told the woman on the other end he had killed three people, telling her where him and the bodies were and hung up to wait for the police to arrive.

He would not run from what he had done, he would face it; no matter how much it killed him to know he had taken the three lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Yep, I did it... Patrick went fucking psycho. Thank you to Holly for the idea of how someone would die, even though it was originally intended for Pete, but I could see that one too easy so I used it on Tricky. There is one more fic to this series and that'll be the end of it. Thanks for tagging along so far, if you have ^_^.


End file.
